A Journey Here and Back
by GuyWithAHelmet
Summary: A giant river otter named Farrarl has floated onto the coast of Mossflower Woods. Having come from a place that is completely different, Farrarl has to rely heavily on friends he has made. However, he DOES know how to fight like nobodies business, so he makes some dead bodies along with friends. Eventually, he'll have to make a choice- WHAT choice, however, is for you to find out.
1. Landfall

Land.

Farrarl's heat-muddled brain dimly tried to explain the blotch coming into view. Farrarl normally had excellent eyesight- however, floating for an innumerable number of days on a chunk of driftwood did wonders on your thoughts.

Farrarl shaded his eyes from the glaring sun with his paw while reaching for a plant-woven water pouch with the other. As the last few dribbles of fresh, non-salty water dripped into his mouth, he finally settled on the fact that he was hallucinating. Days of little water and practically no food had finally gotten to him. That blotch was just a figment of his imagination. A realistic figment, it must be said, but a figment nonetheless.

Of course, had he been stronger, hydrated, and relatively well fed, he could have easily swam the remaining distance between him and the unexplained blotch in the distance. After all, he was a _giant river otter._

Oh, did I forget to mention that? Well, let's elaborate. Even though Farrar's once-velvety fur was now crusted with ocean salt, and his ribs were easily visible through his pelt, it was still obvious that he was a giant, and that he would have dwarfed most anybeast in his presence. Strapped to his thigh on a caiman-hide belt was a slightly rusted, though still massive, steel war axe.

Unfortunately, Farrarl was about as weak as if somebeast had repeatedly beaten him across the face with an angry cobra. Not only that, but he could barely remember anything. All he could remember was a calm river, brightly colored plants, equally bright fish, insanely deadly bugs, the occasional caiman, and others of his kind. However, it all muddled together into a whirlpool of mixed memories as he tried to pick individual thoughts out.

_Farrarl,_ said a faint voice. Almost like a breath on the wind. Farrarl looked up, his spine cracking as he did so.

The ocean around him was empty, except for the mysterious blob that was still growing bigger.

Farrarl groaned and let his head fall back down, his whiskers brushing the saltwater. This proved that he was hallucinating. There was no other explanation.

_Farraaaaarl, _murmured the voice again, marginally louder.

Farrarl glanced up again. The ocean around him was most definitely empty, except for the land/hallucination in the distance that he was slowly drifting closer to.

Farrarl was about to go limp again when the voice spoke again. _Farrarl,_ the voice insisted.

"What do you want from me?" He snapped. Or croaked, really. His throat was drier than a pawful of sand.

Suddenly, a faint image floated into his field of vision. It looked like some sort of smaller beast- though nothing he could have recognized from his days in his previous home. He had a long, thin tail, and relatively small feet. While the beast was obviously quite a bit smaller than Farrarl, he was brawny and tough-looking, and battle armor coated his body. A gleaming sword was clamped firmly in his mailed paw. Despite his warlike appearance, infinite wisdom and kindness shone through his eyes.

_Farrarl,_ the beast said. _Your fate is not to end here. You have much ahead of you, and much behind you too. You shall find out both in time._

Farrarl coughed, his dry mouth rejecting any sound that resembled normal speech. After some effort, he managed to rasp, "Who… Who are you?"

The beast smiled kindly._ I am Martin. I am always with you. _With that, he vanished.

Farrarl blinked uncertainly, trying to decide whether or not that had really happened. It turned out that conversing with his maybe-imaginary friend Martin was a little too much stress for his heat befuddled brain to manage. A pounding headache rippled through his cranium, and his body fell limp to the driftwood log once more.

Only half-conscious, Farrarl watched through half-lidded eyes as the not-so-imaginary blob grew in size until he could make out small details- trees, though they looked nothing like what he was used to, sand, pale and golden, and an old wooden wreckage of a ship, with the mast snapped in half and leaning onto the sand.

Eventually, the shores grew… grew… grew a little bit more… until the constant rocking motion of the waves stopped, and Farrarl could feel gritty sand beneath his paws.

Then, everything went black.


	2. An Unexpected Acquaintance

Burrum the hedgehog was leisurely making his way down the beach at the edge of Mossflower Woods collecting his slingstones. Every season, he left a collection of rough stones at the edge of the water. By the time the season ended, every stone would have been worn smooth by the constant tides and could fly faster and truer than any other in Mossflower. Hanging from Burrum's grass-woven belt was an eelskin sling, skinned off of a river eel during a visit to the pygmy shrews annual elver feast. Burrum could hit a midge from twenty feet with his sling, and everybeast in the forest admired his talent and accuracy.

Burrum picked up one of his slingstones off of the beach. Smooth as glass, and as round as could be. Letting out a small grunt of satisfaction, he dropped the stone into the small pouch that kept his sling company on his belt. He was trudging through the sand to the next stash of stones when he heard a faint moan.

Burrum looked to the right and froze. His first thought was that a shark had washed up on the beach, but his mind dismissed it out of hand- sharks couldn't moan. However, the dark figure lying sprawled over the sand could easily have been as big as a shark- it would've been taller than a badger had it been standing up.

If it _could _stand up, that is. Burrum still had no idea what the dark figure was.

"Hello?" Burrum called, his voice quavering. Cautiously edging closer to the prone figure, Burrum pulled out his sling and slid one of his best slingstones inside the pouch. Slowly tip-toeing closer, he gently nudged the beast with his footpaw.

There was a profound lack of movement.

Spikes bristling in fear, Burrum nudged the mysterious beast again, this time noticing the strange-looking belt around its waist and the gargantuan war axe attached to it.

The beast refused to move.

Mustering all of his courage, Burrum leaned over and pressed his ear to the gaunt creature's ribs, determined to find out whether this mysterious beast was alive or not.

Suddenly, the beast planted his paws into the sand, rising up on his footpaws. Burrum let out a squeak of fear as he scrambled backwards, his trembling paws dropping his sling.

Burrum could see now that this beast was a male otter- though he was _massive,_ more than twice the size of any otter Burrum had ever seen. Though Burrum could easily count the giant otter's ribs through his fur, he had no doubt that this huge beast could pound him into the ground like a nail. Or chop him in half with the massive war axe at his waist, whichever thought occurred to him first.

The huge otter drew in a massive breath, his gaunt ribs expanding. Then, louder than anything Burrum had ever heard, he roared, "ANDOOOOOOOOR!"

Then with that, he collapsed back into the sand. Burrum swore he could feel a tremor running through the ground as the giant otter fell.

Burrum, trembling from eartip to footpaw, shakily slid closer to the giant otter. Sliding a worn water skin out of his pouch, he made his way over to the otter. Terrified as he was, he had never known any otter to be bad, and wanted to help despite his fear.

"Yur a great warrior, aren't yeh?" Burrum spoke as he tilted the otter's head to face the sky. He carefully dribbled some water into the otter's slightly open mouth. The otter, Burrum noticed, did have his own water skin on his scaly-looking belt, but it was flatter than a sheet of parchment and obviously didn't have any moisture in it.

After the otter had swallowed the water, Burrum sat down next to the strange beast. While he looked more than capable of defending himself, Burrum didn't like the thought of leaving him alone, despite his initial terror. He didn't trust some band of vermin to come across the unconscious otter or drag him to their camp for their own uses, or, worse, kill him on the spot.

"It's jus' you and me now, ain't it?" Burrum muttered, more to himself than the unconscious otter. Pulling a lump of greensap cheese out of his pouch, he watched the rippling water turn a gentle shade of sunset orange as he waited for the otter to wake.


	3. Introduction to a Spiky-Looking Friend

"Oi! Wake up!" A gruff voice called.

Farrarl groaned. His face, his ribs, his legs- well, _everything_ hurt. Having just been rudely dragged out of consciousness by the voice, he was now left to feel the full agony of cramps and sores from being draped over a chunk of driftwood for so long.

"Careful there." The voice said, sounding slightly bemused. "You've been unconscious for at least seven hours. Sorry I had to leave you on the sand- you're gigantic, would've taken at least five other hedgehogs to lift a giant like you, and I'm as tired as you are- tis' night."

_Hedgehogs?_

Farrarl pushed himself onto his paws, coming into a rough sitting position. His body protested stridently against the sudden movement, and let loose with a massive wave of pain.

He groaned and swayed, and would have fallen if small paws hadn't firmly pushed at his back, steadying him.

"Woah there, take it easy. I wouldn't move too fast if I were you, yeh might break something." The small paws lifted, and Farrarl twisted around to see who exactly was talking.

"What…" The words died in Farrarl's thirst-parched throat as he saw who-or what- exactly was talking to him.

The beast was small and furry on the front of his body. His back, however, was covered with long spines that went from ear to footpaw. He had a belt with a strange-looking sling on it, along with a large pouch that bulged with unknown objects.

The thing that really caught Farrarl's eye, however, was the water skin that the hedgehog was holding in his right paw.

"Water…" He rasped, feebly stretching out his paw.

The hedgehog grinned and handed over the water skin. "Thought you were thirsty, roight? Found you 'nconscious on the beach. Looked just about starved to death." He paused and then added, "My name's Burrum, by the way.

Farrarl was too busy slurping down water to notice much of the speech, though he did file away the hedgehog's name for reference later. As he squeezed the last few drops onto his outstretched tongue, he felt around his age-worn belt and realized something was missing.

"Where's my axe?" he asked.

Burrum gestured towards the gigantic weapon lying in the sand off to his side, glinting in the moonlight. "Had to take it off of you. Sorry 'bout that, but it was cuttin' into yore side and gave you a nasty lookin' gash right there." He pointed at the giant otter's hip, where a linen bandage was wrapped around his thigh. There was a small red blotch where blood had soaked through.

Farrarl took a moment to look towards the treeline. Though they were all cloaked in shadow, Farrarl could tell that the trees were all unfamiliar- far shorter than the ones he had lived around, and with much more leaves.

"Where am I?" he asked Burrum as he hooked the axe back onto his belt.

Burrum grinned. "This, my friend, is Mossflower Woods, home of goodbeasts, badbeasts, and the most delicious food you'll ever set eyes upon." He glanced at Farrarl's gaunt ribs and added, "Something you're in great need of, I'd assume."

Farrarl's stomach would have rumbled, if it had the energy to do so. "You're right about that."

Burrum cheerfully chattered as he pulled food out of the large pouch at his waist. "Yeh can't be from around here, right? Really big for an otter- giant, in fact! I've not got enough food here to satisfy a great lump like you, but there's a place where you can stuff yourself silly while enjoying great company and cuddling Dibbuns."

Farrarl paused in the middle of chomping on a dried watershrimp cake. "Dibbuns?"

Burrum looked up fondly to the stars as he munched on some sun-dried apple slices. "Dibbuns are the little babbies that live at Redwall- cutest little lumps of fur you'll ever set eyes upon."

Farrarl frowned, no small feat when chewing furiously on a strip of dried grayling meat. "Redwall?"

Farrarl nodded cheerfully, now nibbling contentedly on a chunk of greensap cheese. "Yessiree! Redwall's a magnificent place, made out of fine sandstone and home of the finest cooks in the world. Goodbeasts of all kinds live there. If yeh want, I can lead you there! They'd welcome you as their own. Tis an hours walk from this beach, so yeh can wait if yore too weak to travel."

Farrarl tensed and reached for his axe, snarling, "Shut up, now."

Burrum held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Woah, I didn't mean any harm. Just saying that you've been unconscious and all, and-"

"No, not that, we're being watched!"

Burrum, instantly fell silent, pulling out his sling and loading a smooth stone into the pocket. Tensed as a bent sapling, they both waited, ears straining to hear the slightest sound.

Farrarl was just about to say that it was nothing when a menacing voice emanated from the shadows of night.

"Well, well, well, me laddoes. What do we have 'ere?"


	4. Ambush, Hostage Taking, Escaping, Oh My!

Farrarl whirled, his axe held high. Or, at least, he tried to. The combination of a surplus of good food and exhaustion was making his head whirl dangerously. So instead of the menacing combat pose he had in mind, he executed some sort of twirl and lurched to the side, nearly dropping his axe.

Menacing laughter echoed around them. "Aha, maties, looks like we've got ourselves a fat liddle 'edgepig and a drunk, o'ersized riverdog. And a good amount o' vittles to boot."

Light flared into existence from torches gripped in filthy paws. Surrounding Farrarl and Burrum were seven ragged-looking beasts. They all obviously lived a life of thievery and murder, and scars crisscrossed the muzzles of every one. Every single one held a club, dagger, axe, spear, or some other implement of war in their paws.

Burrum lifted his sling, preparing to fight in defense of himself and the weakened Farrarl.

"Ah ah ah, I wouldn't do that if I were you." The first speaker chided, obviously the leader of the bunch. "Even if yeh could slay one of us, the rest of us would jump in and slay yeh afore either of you could twitch a whisker."

"I'm not sure about that, Rustfang." One of them commented nervously. "That big un' looks nasty."

"Nobeast asked yer opinion, Moldfur." Rustfang snapped, waving his dirk around menacingly. "Besides, 'es about as weak as a newborn pigeon."

Burrum anxiously glanced towards Farrarl, who was struggling to maintain his balance. "They're vermin!" He hissed. "Cowardly smears of mud. A big enough show o' force will deter em', though we seem to be in lack of that right now."

"Shut yer mouth!" Rustfang snarled, taking another step forward. "We'll be wanting those vittles! And that axe, that sling, whatever's left in that pouch, and that belt of yores."

Farrarl glanced at his caiman hide belt, then dropped his axe. Burrum hesitated, then did the same, though he was a bit wide-eyed at the fact that they weren't trying to put up a fight.

"That's a good riverdog, now." Sneered Rustfang. With the other vermin watching, he felt emboldened by the lack of resistance. Edging forward, he gestured towards Farrarl with the torch in his paw. "Go on. Take off the belt."

Farrarl carefully unbuckled the belt. Burrum, panicked, whispered, "Oi! What're you doing? They'll just kill us if we do what they want!"

Farrarl gritted his teeth and muttered, "I know. I have a plan."

Rustfang, to busy watching over his shoulder to check if his comrades were still with him, didn't notice this exchange. He turned his head back and growled, "Well now, I'd like you to 'and over that bel- aaark!"

Farrarl moved with lightning speed, closing the distance between himself and Rustfang in the blink of an eye. Looping the unbuckled belt around the surprised vermin's throat, Farrarl tightened the tough leather around Rustfang's windpipe. Lifting the struggling vermin several inches off of the ground, Farrarl towered to his full height as the other vermin cries out in surprise and fear.

Burrum, who had been rather caught off guard with this fierce act of violence, now took full advantage as he plucked his sling off of the ground and smashed the loaded stone inside into the head of the distracted Moldfur. The mangy weasel dropped both club and torch as Burrum whirled the sling above his head, threatening any vermin that came within range.

"C'mon then, you mangy pieces of bug food! Take a single step towards us and I'll crush his windpipe." Farrarl ominously tightened the crushing stranglehold a little bit more, causing the unfortunate Rustfang's eyes to bug out, though the effort sent a jolt of pain through his emaciated arms.

"Best gather the supplies." Farrarl muttered to Burrum, who nodded and swiftly picked up the pouch of food, Farrarl's axe, and the now-empty water skin. The remaining vermin hung back nervously. While the gigantic otter was certainly extremely skinny and starved, he'd moved with lightning speed and obviously was still plenty strong enough to crush anything within paw's reach. None of them were eager to try their luck at attacking him.

Farrarl, Burrum, and their new hostage Rustfang swiftly moved closer to the treeline, away from the group of vermin. While the vermin wanted loot, they didn't want it _that _bad, and stared after the fast retreating figures as they melded into the trees.

Before they'd even walked a few paces, Farrarl tripped painfully on a protruding tree root. The slightly loosened belt allowed Rustfang to gasp for breath and flail weakly, his face an unhealthy shade of purple.

"Blast!" Farrarl muttered, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his footpaw. "Everything's new here. And to top that off, I can barely see where I'm going."

Burrum was sweating under the weight of the gigantic axe that Farrarl used. "Well, how about we get rid of _him _and get rid of some deadweight?" He suggested. Upon hearing this, Rustfang's eyes widened even farther, and he wriggled desperately to try and escape.

Farrarl shook his prisoner roughly, "Who knows how many innocent beasts have died because of this piece of filth. I should just snap his neck and be done with it."

Burrum shrugged, a wicked grin on his face. "P'raps throw him into a tree and let the crows get him."

Farrarl, strained and sweating as he was, grinned as well as he caught on. "Or maybe hang him upside down from a bush with his face in the mud so that he'll sink and suffocate."

"Or go to the marshes and feed 'im to the salamanders and toads."

"Good idea, that one. Maybe we could use him as a peace offering"

With every suggestion, Rustfang grew more and more desperate, squirming even harder in an attempt to break free of the strap of leather. Farrarl shook him again. "Quit your moaning, we're not going to kill you, as much as you deserve it. You're a lucky…" Farrarl paused and turned to Burrum. "What kind of beast is he?"

"A stoat."

"Thank you." Farrarl turned back to his prisoner. "You're a lucky stoat, and it's a miracle we haven't killed you already. So get away, you piece of filth." Farrarl suddenly loosened the belt, causing the stoat to drop a foot onto the ground. Scrambling to his feet, he sprinted away from the gigantic otter as fast as he could, tripping a few times in his desperation.

Burrum wrinkled his nose as the acrid smell of urine hit him. "I don't think he liked our jokes very much."

Farrarl winked at him, rebuckling his belt around his thin waist. "That's the aroma of amusement, trust me."

Burrum chuckled. "I suppose we'll be heading to Redwall now?"

"Aye." Farrarl nodded. "No point in hanging around. That strat might-"

"That's a stoat to you."

"Or stoat, whatever. He might make it back with his little group, and then they'll be out for revenge. Might as well get moving while there's still time." Farrarl reasoned.

Burrum cast a critical eye over his friend's easily visible ribs. "Farrarl… You're sure you can make this trip? Redwall is still a good forty minute walk away."

Farrarl had a glint in his eye that he hadn't before. "Yes. It's now or never."

Burrum shrugged cheerfully. "Your funeral!" Then, they both sauntered off into the thick undergrowth, the leaves covering them both.


	5. A New Villain Murder Death Thing

Rustfang was livid.

First, the fact that he could barely breathe. Being strangled by that oversized otter had been painful, humiliating, and terrifying. He would repay him someday. Then there was that hedgehog. He'd have to die too, if he was going to save face in front of his mates.

Rustfang's throat throbbed like crazy. He could barely talk, as his throat was all swollen up. He'd have to make his way back to the group and get Moldfur to get back up, since he was his best tracker. Then they'd hunt those two down, and slay them.

Rustfang looked around, wincing as the movement stretched his neck. He couldn't recognize any of the surrounding forest. He and his group of vermin had generally stayed around the coastline, looking for defenseless prey that they could ambush, rob, and murder, in that order. As such, he had no knowledge of the forest and was probably a few miles from the coastline.

As he stumbled of into the inky blackness of night, he squinted as he tried to make out what was ahead of him. The fact that he felt like someone had stabbed him in the throat with a rusty nail didn't help his concentration. Even through the pain and darkness, he could make out a glimmer of moonlight through the trees.

Hope flaring in his chest, Rustfang continued to struggle through the brush towards the glimmer of light. Maybe it was a clearing, or better, the ocean shore. The stoat continued to crash through the bush until he burst into the clearing.

For it _was _a clearing, he realized. Rustfang felt a slight disappointment in the fact that he was probably farther from the shore than ever, but it vanished immediately when he saw a large burrow in the middle of the clearing.

He ran eagerly towards the large hole. He could stay in there for the night, out of the biting wind or any bad weather that might show its head. In the morning, he could regain his bearings, maybe find something to eat, then make his way back to the coast, find his companions, and continue on his merry way.

Rustfang stepped into the hole, which was almost big enough that he could stand straight up without his head brushing the top of the burrow. Whatever made this must've been big, he thought. But it was long gone now, or he would have seen it by now.

As he confidently strode forward, the throbbing in his neck momentarily forgotten, his foot crunched through something on ground. As Rustfang glanced down, he realized that he had just stepped through the remains of a rat skull.

As Rustfang let out a strangled gasp, he heard something strange. A faint slithering sound reached his ears, and it was gradually getting louder. Rustfang looked back, frantic for an escape route, but realized what he had thought was a burrow was really a complex maze of tunnels. Instead of the single tunnel he thought had come through, there were three. He had no way of knowing which one led back to the surface.

As Rustfang's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he looked back and froze.

A gigantic snake, bigger than any he had ever heard of, bigger than even the great Asmodius of legend, loomed before him. Instead of the diamond pattern that adders sported on their bodies, this snake sported a pattern of dark brown blotches from head to tail. The snake's scaly head was probably as big as Rustfang's entire body.

The massive snake stretched its jaws open, exposing the small but extremely sharp fangs that lined its gaping maw. Rustfang was terrified out of his wits, but he couldn't help but look at the snake's large, yellow, eyes… His feet felt stuck to the ground… the snake's eyes grew bigger and bigger, filling Rustfang's field of vision-

The boa constrictor lashed out with blinding speed, latching its small, hooked, teeth into Rustfang's flesh. The doomed stoat let out a final, rasping, shriek as the snake wrapped its muscular coils around his body and _squeezed_…

And Rustfang the stoat was dead.

The constrictor slowly relaxed its death grip on the lifeless vermin. Fitting the stoat's corpse headfirst into its gullet, the snake realized that it would have to move soon. The forest around it was relatively deserted, save for the odd wanderer who didn't have the sense to stay away. The boa constrictor heard, in the chatter of birds above that were unaware of its presence, that there was a great red fortress, filled with beasts that had known nothing but fat, peaceful, lives.

The massive snake started to slither out of the matrix of tunnels. It was time he left this place, and moved to the house of red stone. Then, he would gorge himself on all those who resided there.


	6. A Bad Omen

"Beasts on the road!" Querrin shouted, gesturing frantically from the top of the sandstone walls.

Abbot Frurry sighed. Querrin was an excitable young dormouse, and was rather on the brawny side. However, he tended to overreact over the simplest of things. Just a few days ago, he had discovered a barrel of October ale missing in the cellar and had assumed that some vermin had been hiding in the Abbey, living off of stolen food and drink. He had dragged two of his friends and almost all of the Dibbuns into a great search for the imagined vermin before the Cellarhog could pull him aside and explain that the ale was being used in a surprise feast for the next day.

"Who is it?" Frurry called politely, half suspecting another wild-goose chase.

A small mousebabe poked his tiny head over the edge of the wooden platform that held him next to Querrin. "It's Burrydurrum with a biggy lookin' otterrrrrr!" He squealed, narrowly avoiding tumbling off the wall in his enthusiasm.

Frurry couldn't help a half-smile as he watched Querrin grasp the chubby Dibbun between his paws and shout, "Come, now, Mr. Durpple! We must hold off the badbeasts whilst the Abbey hides under our protectioooon!"

Durpple the mousebabe squirmed out of Querrin's grasp and tumbled down the timber stairs that lead to the battlements. Jumping into the Abbot's long robe, he squeaked, "It's Burrydurrum with a biggy otter!"

Frurry gently set the chubby little mousebabe aside in the grass. "Hush now, young one. Go get a strawberry from the kitchens, I'm sure Friar Turril will lend you one." The little Dibbun scrambled off to join his friends as Frurry gingerly walked up the stairs to join Querrin.

Querrin pointed into the distance. "See, Father, it's Burrum with a giant otter next to him!" The Abbot squinted at the faint blotches that he was talking about. Once was spiky and vaguely round, while the other was massively tall but painfully skinny. The latter appeared to be stumbling along as the former carried/urged him on.

Frurry twisted around and shouted at Prioress Calla. "Prioress, my dear, would you please get some medicine and food ready? It looks like we'll need to care for a rather large otter for some time."

The slender mouse raised an eyebrow at the last part, but glided silently away in the direction of the kitchen.

Querrin let out a slight squeak of dismay. "But- Father! What if the big otter is secretly a vermin? And he's only foxing to trick Burrum to get him into the Abbey? And he's planning to rob us blind and-"

"Vermin aren't keen on wearing disguises, Burrum is too smart to be tricked like that, and our Abbey doesn't carry any valuables worth taking. You know our rules, Querrin. We care for anybeast if they need help."

Querrin scowled, fighting out an imaginary battle in his thoughts. "If he plans anything funny, Father, I'll duel him to the death with the sword of Martin!" He did a series of imagined strokes, swipes, and feints with a nonexistent opponent.

"Stop twirling around like that, you're liable to fall of the wall, and you won't be fighting _anyone _with a broken arm." Frurry chided. The duo were steadily getting closer, and he looked down at the gatehouse. "Dail! Could you open the gate, please? There is a pair of beasts on the road, they appear to be in need of help."

The old gatekeeper vole drowsily poked his head out of the gatehouse window. "Eh? Ah, yeah, sure…" With a poorly stifled yawn, he pulled his head back in and turned the well-greased wheel that opened the gate.

Burrum the hedgehog stumbled in, supporting the weight of a massive-but-emaciated otter. The otter was standing, but barely, and he would've been on the ground if Burrum hadn't been supporting him. However, the otter was _massive_. More than twice the size of Skipper, Frurry mused, and a fighter, judging by the massive war axe on his belt.

"Prioress! Where's the medicine and food?" Frurry called.

"Right here, Father." Said a quiet voice from behind him. Frurry started slightly, but he was mostly used to Calla's uncanny ability to move like a shadow. She generally put this talent to good use, and as a result, the Dibbuns regarded her as a magical ghost mouse that always knew what they were doing.

"Right, then." Frurry turned around, grabbed the basket that the Prioress was holding, and hurried over to the exhausted duo. Burrum immediately started wolfing down food, though the massive otter was slower. His feeble arm could barely reach the basket.

"Here." The Abbot quickly placed a loaf of rootbread in the skinny hand of the starving giant. The food was quickly wolfed down, and Frurry turned to the ravenous hedgehog beside him. "Who is this… large gentlebeast?" He asked.

"Giant otter." Burrum mumbled unhelpfully through a mouthful of food. "Found him washed up on the shore-"Here he stuffed in a slice of deeper-'n-ever-turnip-and-tater-and-beetroot pie into his mouth. "And I stayed with him a bit, gave him something to eat, we fought off a few vermin, he's plenty tough even though he's been starved to the point 'o death." He paused a moment to destroy a mushroom pasty, then added, "'Course, travelin' nonstop for an hour couldn't have done 'im good."

"You had him travel nonstop for an hour?" Frurry said severely. "I would have thought better of you, Burrum, he's a weak and starving bea-"

"A giant otterbeast that nearly strangled a stoat to death while 'alf-starved." Burrum interrupted. "Besides that, 'e insisted. I told 'im that 'e was starving an' needed rest, but he decided on going anyway. With all due respect, Father, e's a warrior with a large axe, and I've a feeling that he usually gets what 'e wants."

"Well, I suppose you had a reason, but it was still quite dangerous, in his condition." The Abbot conceded. "Now he really must get some rest. Prioress Ca-"

"Yes, Father?" murmured a quiet voice behind him. This time, Frurry managed to control the start of surprise, and turned around in a dignified manner.

"Please take this large gentlebeast to the infirmary. And prepare a bed. A _large _one." He said. Then considered what he said and added, "With the help of Friar Derril and Foremole, of course."

"Of course, Father." Calla murmured. She glided off to fetch the two helpers, throwing a stern glance at a gaggle of curious Dibbuns in the Abbey entrance, and entered the doorway, shutting it behind her.

However, one Dibbun slipped past her, and, knowing that he risked being physicked and bathed, he relentlessly worked his chubby legs as he sprinted towards the gargantuan otter.

Durpple the mousebabe made his way over to the emaciated otter, squeezing his way between Burrum's legs, and gazed openmouthed at the fallen giant in front of him. He squinted so hard that his eyes were mostly concealed by chubby cheeks.

"Hey!" The Abbot said, surprised. "You should be in the kitchen, young one, Turril has a strawberry for you."

"I wanted to see dah big otter." The mousebabe pouted. The sound of his squeaky voice attracted the attention of the exhausted otter, and he turned his head in his direction. Durpple squeaked and hopped backwards, but the otter easily plucked him up with a single paw.

"Wow… You really are adorable, aren't you…?" Farrarl croaked. The little mousebabe squirmed under his scrutiny, and Burrum couldn't help with a quiet chuckle. Farrarl shifted his glance to Frurry, and his eyes widened in surprise.

"What type of beast are you?" He rasped. The Abbot, slightly surprised, stuttered, "Ah- I'm a mouse."

Farrarl let his head fall back to his previous position, and let the mousebabe down from his paw. Durpple leapt down, tumbled a bit, then stood up and intensely wriggled around as Farrarl studied Frurry.

"You're a mouse, but you're not a fighter, you're not him…" Farrarl murmured thoughtfully, then his eyes rolled back into his skull and he passed out.

The Abbot, taken aback at this, glanced down at the mousebabe. "Now, you should really go to the kitchens, young Durp-"

"Leave him to me, Father." Said a quiet voice behind Frurry. Durpple let out a terrified squeak and tried to scramble desperately off, but a pair of firm paws grasped his chubby waist and lifted him to head height.

"To think that we teach these Dibbuns anything!" Prioress Calla muttered severely. "It's straight to the infirmary with you, a mug of thymewater, a bath, and bed a good two hours earlier. And look at this dust you've gotten on yourself!" The tiny Dibbun wriggled furiously in an attempt to escape.

"No, no, I'm a good Dibbun, don't physick meeeeeeeee!" Durpple protested desperately as he was carried off into the Abbey. Friar Derril and the brawny Foremole had accompanied her outside, and now stood still, standing awkwardly.

Foremole tugged his snout respectfully. "Hellur, Farther. Wouldee like help in carrin' this large 'entlebeast to the 'firmary?"

Abbot Frurry nodded, relief evident in his voice. "Yes, yes, please do so, you two are lifesavers. How Calla manages to keep those Dibbuns in line, I'll never know." He added. As the brawny duo gently manhandled the otter to the infirmary, he sighed and rubbed his forehead.

Burrum chuckled, then stopped. A cold breeze, out of place in the warm summer afternoon, rippled past the sandstone wall and ruffled the fur on the backs of the beasts within.

Burrum shivered. "I think that there's somethin' bad coming, Father."

Abbot Frurry pulled his robe around himself. "I think you may be right, Burrum."

Together, they stared off into Mossflower Woods, aware, yet unaware of the approaching danger.


	7. Recovery and Revelations

Farrarl was getting better. There was no doubt about it, he thought as he lay on a dining table that had been repurposed to be used as a bed. The presence of food and friendship did wonders on his weakened body. His muscles filled out, his fur grew shiny, and he could actually get out of bed without collapsing and frothing at the mouth.

Farrarl got out of bed, the movement lithe and fluid. The fact that he was much, much bigger than the other beasts made living in the Abbey slightly awkward. For one, he had to stoop whenever he moved through a doorway. He also had a prodigious appetite, devouring anything that resembled food at dinner. But living at the Abbey had definite upsides, he thought. Good food, plenty of friends, and helping plenty of other people. It was certainly an upgrade from being draped over a chunk of wood while floating in the ocean.

As Farrarl stooped through the doorway, Prioress Calla stopped him. "There's something the Abbot wants you to see." She murmured quietly. Farrarl, curious, followed her as she glided through the halls.

After some time, Calla stopped and gesture at him to speak to the Abbot. He was standing in the middle of a massive hallway, staring at something on the wall.

Noticing Farrarl's presence, he smiled and said, "Thank you, Calla. Farrarl, if you may come where I am." Farrarl walked next to him, and as he looked at the wall, he gasped.

Hung on the wall was a magnificent tapestry, as long as Farrarl was tall. On the richly woven cloth was a depiction of beasts that Farrarl didn't recognize, but it was clear that almost all were running in fear. The one that wasn't was the main focus of the picture, an armored mouse with a sword clamped in his paw.

It was, without a doubt, the mouse that had spoken to Farrarl as he had drifted to shore. What was his name? Martin, that was it.

Frurry heard the gasp and smiled. "You know this mouse, I presume?"

"Yes." Farrarl muttered. As if in a trance, he gently stroked the fabric with his paw.

"This is Martin the Warrior." Frurry explained. "He was the very first Abbey champion, and one of the Abbey founders. It was he who slew the wildcat Tsarmina and countless other vermin besides. It was also he who defended the Abbey til' he died. This was his sword."

Farrarl looked down at the Abbot and saw that he was holding a sword out to him. It was obviously the sword depicted in the tapestry, and it gleamed with unusual ferocity. The unusual thing was, it wasn't fancy. There was no gold, no jewels, no unnecessary adornment. There was a handle of black wood, a gleaming blade, and that was it.

However, as Farrarl took it from the Abbot, it was obviously a perfectly forged weapon. Despite having been made for a smaller beast, the cool wood fit perfectly in his paw, and it was perfectly balanced. Farrarl knew, then and there, that it was far superior to any weapon that he had ever seen.

"A fine weapon, isn't it?" Frurry asked. "Twas' made by Boar the Fighter- one of the greatest swordsmiths in the land. He forged this out of metal from a falling star, and gave it to Martin."

"Why are you showing me this?" Farrarl asked suddenly. Frurry merely smiled.

"Martin told me… in a dream. Tis' uncommon in the Abbey, but it happens. However, he only appears when great events are taking place." Frurry explained. He cast an eye on Farrarl. "Considering that you've seen him too, I would hazard a guess that you are part of those events."

Farrarl waved the blade in the air. His giant paw made it look like a dagger, but it was so well balanced that he couldn't feel its weight. "Take it." The Abbot offered suddenly, seeing the admiring glint in his eye.

"What?" Farrarl said, caught off guard.

"Take it." Frurry repeated. "An Abbey champion only appears when they are needed, and I would say that you are that champion. If you are to fulfill that role, you need this weapon."

Farrarl felt humbled by the Abbot's words. "Thank you, Father."

"Ah, no need to thank me." Frurry chuckled. "The sword's always here for those who need it. Now, if I'm not mistaken, there's some strawberry cordial in the kitchen that needs drinking!"

"Agreed!" Farrarl said heartily. His spirits lifted, they both walked out of the room in the direction of the kitchens.

* * *

Unbeknownst to them, there was a languid sense of malice outside of the Abbey walls. The giant constrictor coiled itself in the dirt and leaves, the brown blotches on its back rendering it near-invisible.

It had already checked around the giant sandstone walls. There was no way through… yet. All it took was an unlocked gate, a poorly shut window, and the snake would find its way in.

The snake flicked its tongue in and out, tasting the faint odor of living meat that hung around the Abbey. When that happened, the boa constrictor would enjoy it dearly.


	8. First Encounter

Durpple the mousebabe was sulking, as is the wont of very young creatures. He was feeling quite mutinous. As far as he was concerned, he had been unjustly punished (as in, physicked, bathed, and sent to bed early ahead of everyone else) merely for satisfying his ever-present curiosity some time ago. While he plotted mutinously as he lay in his comfy little cot, he heard a small noise from outside the dorm.

Curious, he hopped out of bed (careful not to wake the other Dibbuns) and hauled himself up to window height to examine whatever had caused the noise. However, the stained glass window provided limited visibility to the outside world, so he squeaked in frustration and pried the window open with his chubby paws.

A cold wind blew into the dorm as Durpple poked his head out. To his disappointment, there was nothing but a large pile of leaves outside the wall. He was about to pull his head back in and close the window when… suddenly… the leaf pile _moved_…

Straining his eyes to see against the late evening darkness, Durpple could just make out a scaly, menacing, and _very _large head rearing up from the ground.

"EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" the mousebabe squealed as he slid off the window ledge and fled from the room. He sprinted willy-nilly through the hall, screaming the whole time, while outside, the snake lifted his head and slithered its way in…

Abbot Frurry was just walking to his quarters when a squealing, knee-high blur tackled him around the knees. As he struggled to disengage himself from the terrified Dibbun, Durpple gabbled out frantically, "Abbotderesabiglookysnakeoutsidethewindowitwasbigandscaryitlookedlikeitwantedtoeatme-"

In all his time at Redwall, never had Frurry been more bewildered. He lifted the squirming Dibbun to head height and asked, "A snake, you say?"

Durpple furiously nodded and squeaked, "Right outside the bed window, it was big and scary!"

Frurry was inclined to be skeptical, but he had never seen a Dibbun this scared. It was probably best if he went to investigate, both to relieve the Dibbuns fears. Gently setting down the terrified Dibbun, he walked over to the stairwell that the Dibbun had run down. Climbing up the stairs, he peered past the open dormitory door and saw…

A gigantic snake, slithering out of the door.

As the massive constrictor spotted the Abbot, it hissed and struck at him. Fortunately for him, Frurry had ducked his head out of sight before the snake had had the chance to bite him, so the row of fangs closed on thin air. The terrified Abbot streaked down the stairs, towards the infirmary. As he burst through the double doors, he gasped, "Farrarl, help! There's a giant snake loose in the Abbey, and you're the only one who can kill it."

Farrarl, who had been sanding the rust off of his axe, sprang out of bed. "Where?" He demanded, the fire of battle kindling in his eyes.

The Abbot, trembling, whispered, "The dormitory. It climbed through the window." As Farrarl turned to leave, Frurry grabbed his wrist (which was really the only part that he was tall enough to grab) and said, "_Take the sword._

With the sword clamped firmly in one paw and his axe in the other, Farrarl strode determinedly up to the dormitory. He had some idea what he was going up against- he had some memory of the tropical snakes that he had fought with where he originally lived- scaly, cold-blooded murderers that either used deadly venom or crushing muscles to slay their victims. With that in mind, he rounded the corner to the dormitory stairwell-

-only to have rows of needle sharp fangs bury themselves in his chest. Before Farrarl could react, thick coils of muscle wrapped around his ribcage and began to contract. Off balance, Farrarl crashed to the stone floor, unable to breathe. In a flash, Farrarl remembered something… a voice, from a long time past… "_Remember, m'boy. When taking on one of these slippery bastards, take off the head first and don't look at the eyes." _Well, that advice wouldn't do him much good, only one of his arms could actually move- the one with Martin's sword held in it- and Farrarl couldn't see the head from his position. Then, "_Now, if one of these guys gets their greasy loops around you, hold your breath. Every time you try to breathe, the constrictor will push more breath from your lungs. It will just quicken your death."_

Now _that _he could work with. Carefully keeping from trying to take in breath- an attractive prospect, as his lungs were screaming for air- he whipped his arm around and stabbed the boa constrictor somewhere on the side of its body. At the same time, Farrarl bent his neck and dealt a vicious bite to another part of the snake's anatomy. As the coils loosened slightly, Farrarl shifted and slid his arm in between the snake and his neck. With a mighty push, the colossal otter slid the snake up and over his head, like a shirt. With most of the leverage gone, the snake couldn't squeeze effectively, and Farrarl easily got back onto his feet to get a proper look at what he was facing.

The snake was gigantic- around twice as long as Farrarl was. The mottled pattern on its scaly skin perfectly mimicked the dappled pattern of leaves on the ground, and red blood oozed from the wounds he had given it. Its tongue was flickering in and out, and the eyes- Farrarl quickly averted his gaze. He didn't want to look at the eyes.

The snake flicked its tongue furiously. "You fool!" it hissed. "You only prolong your death!"

Farrarl, surprised that he could understand it, attempted to pry some information from it. "Who- what are you? Where are you from? You are not from the forest, I know that much." He demanded.

The snake hissed evilly. "I am the great sssssserpent Belsssssissss. I came from the land acrosssssss the sssssea, on a ship filled with corssssairsssss. I wassssss an egg, mixed with a crate of dove eggsssssss, and they knew not what they took with them. I hatched, and sssssslew all of them in their sssssleep. I fed, and grew, and the ship drifted here." The snake flicked its tongue in and out. "Now I shall ssssslay you and feassssst on your flesh!"

Farrarl was stunned. A land across the sea? That sounded a lot like where he was from. And this snake… it was the only link, the only possibility that he might get back home. So he couldn't kill it if he was to return.

His thoughts where interrupted as the snake lunged for his leg, jaws agape. Swinging his axe in a downwards arc, Farrarl quickly hopped to the side to avoid being bitten. The axe struck a hairsbreadth away from the snake's body, sending sparks flying as metal met stone. Belsiss coiled into a striking stance and struck again. However, this time, Farrarl was expecting it, and he hopped into the air. As the constrictors jaws snapped shut underneath him, Farrarl came back down on top of the snake's head, pinning it to the floor.

Farrarl raised the axe and sword into the air… one strike would end it all. The snake would die, and end the threat to the Abbey. But a voice whispered in his head…

_Do you really want to kill your last link to your original life?_

There were other ways, Farrarl told himself. There had to be. A scroll, a carving, something that would tell him how he could get back. Besides, this place was great. He had friends, food, and people _cared _for him. Of course he wouldn't leave!

But did he?

Sensing his indecision, Belsiss writhed from side to side. Farrarl stumbled off, and the snake lunged… for the window. Crashing through the stained glass, the snake slithered through the window and thudded down into the grass below. Quickly slithering off into the shadows, the snake soon moved out of sight.

Farrarl let the weapons slip from his paws. He had failed. Failed and let the constrictor live, because he'd had a moment of weakness. Now the snake would slither of to end the life of some other hapless creature…

Farrarl reconciled with the fact that there was only one thing to do. He'd have to hunt down Belsiss and kill him, no matter the consequence.


End file.
